


Transmutation

by ashilrak



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Blood, Canon Era, Dubious Consent, M/M, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 05:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14928107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashilrak/pseuds/ashilrak
Summary: “Half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. Real gods require blood.”— Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God---Gilbert knew what the General was from the moment he first laid eyes on him. It had taken everything to keep from going down to his knees before Washington, years of practiced etiquette all that was between him and pressing his face into the cold, unforgiving dirt.





	Transmutation

**Author's Note:**

> My prompt for this was "transformation"

Gilbert knew what the General was from the moment he first laid eyes on him. It had taken everything to keep from going down to his knees before Washington, years of practiced etiquette all that was between him and pressing his face into the cold, unforgiving dirt.

The first feeling had been an unholy combination of awe and fear, the sort of emotion that was physically felt, that spoke to ancient knowledge stored deep in the human soul. A generations-old memory that even Death couldn’t make one forget. It was instinct; a warning. A voice in an indecipherable language telling him to run far and to run fast.  

The second feeling had been confusion, eyes wide and ears pricked for even the smallest sound. The General had met his gaze, had greeted him with the formality fitting of his station. No one had acted any different. Gilbert had felt the lightning in the air, was hyper aware of just how deeply Washington’s eyes bore into his very being.

Everyone else around him seemed vacant, as if they were merely playing a role. He had followed along, curiosity burning a blaze in his heart.

Washington saw something in him, it was there in the subtle satisfaction that poured out from the man. Washington sensed his fear, thrived on it. A straightening of the spine and the faintest quirk to the lip was all Gilbert saw before it vanished, leaving no sign as if it had never been there at all.

Gilbert knew what Washington was, and Washington knew he knew. These were the stories told to children before bed, very real lessons hidden behind a mask of destiny and true love.

\---

It didn’t take great talent to know when one wasn’t wanted, and Gilbert could feel the derision dripping of those around him in spades. He might not be able to understand them, but he was familiar with the distinct look in their eyes from all around him.

All but Washington.

Washington who sat at the head of the table, fork and knife in hand, food and wine untouched. There were men outside who would kill - had killed - for the chance to smell food like this again. The others laughed as they let fat and wine drip from the corners of their mouths, yet Washington remained as silent as the grave.

Once again, Gilbert felt the depth of the General’s gaze, felt it weigh on him like bricks on his back. An eternity of suffering he had never felt, a light joy beyond anything he could ever dream of. And yet, the others continued on absent-minded. Foolish and naive. Too occupied with their own war, unknowing of the disaster they could wreck with one wrong word.

Gods weren’t kind.

Gilbert stumbled when he stood from the table, the wine he had kept drinking in an attempt to calm his nerves much too strong for such an occasion. A hot hand, heat blazing through the layers of fabric, steadied him. Gilbert swallowed and took in a deep breath, the smell of spice and luxury and blood filling his nose.

“You must take care, young Marquis,” the General said, voice low and full of gravel.

\---

His heart was pounding in his chest, faster than he had ever felt it, and he struggled to catch his breath. Gilbert fisted his hands in the sheets, holding onto the white fabric as if it were the sole thing tethering him to his earth. It had to be. The room was spinning and his nightshirt was too heavy, too stiff, to much.

He threw himself from his bed and threw his shirt against the wall and started to pace. The room was dark, too dark to see yet still to bright. His vision was black and white, a black that was blinding light. He clenched his hands at his sides, tried to focus on the sharp bite of his fingernails into his palm.

There was the sense that someone was watching him. Had been for days now.

Perhaps they’d been right. Perhaps he wasn’t ready for war. Being so close now was enough to drive him mad. A boy chasing after his father’s memory was all he was. Seeing Gods in generals, light in the dark, monsters where there were none.

Gilbert took in a deep breath, the night air doing little to calm him. He did it again, breathing deep into his entire chest, feeling it expand.

He looked down at his hands, only the vaguest of shapes visible in the dark. He was naked and standing alone. He was naked and Washington was not far. It was dark enough he’d remain hidden.

He shook his head, doing his best to force such thoughts from his mind. He was going mad.

\---

It was one of Washington’s boys that fetched him in the morning. Hopes, dreams, determination, and bravery coming off of the boy in waves. Tallmadge was his name, if Gilbert recalled correctly.

The man bowed his head upon entering. “The General has requested your presence.”

Gilbert blinked. “Thank you,” he managed.

Tallmadge looked at him for a second, eyes focusing in on his face, head cocked slightly to the side.

“Marquis,” Tallmadge started, voice hesitant. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you do not look well. Are you feeling alright?”

Gilbert nodded. “I am feeling quite well, thank you,” he said. “You may tell the General that I will be there shortly.” Tallmadge opened his mouth to say something, but Gilbert cut in before he could, “You may leave.”

Tallmadge nodded and turned on his heel, and Gilbert was once again alone.

He held onto his breath as he reached for his mirror.

His mouth dropped open when he caught a glance of his reflection. The skin around his eye was darkened, thin lines framing it. His very iris was darker than before, almost black. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, something from a tale. Gilbert felt a familiar chill run down his spine.

\---

He was expected to be at the General’s side, his position granting him the association.

Being even that close to Washington was an exquisite form of torture. What had before been ice freezing him in place had turned to singing in his veins whenever he was close, the awareness still there but no longer putting him into the role of prey.

It was more dangerous this way, Gilbert knew.

They were never alone, and for that Gilbert was grateful. The General hadn’t made a move to touch him again, didn’t help him up or guide him any one way. Their interactions were no more than expected, but he could still feel the weight of Washington’s gaze. The constant feeling of being watched had never once faded.

The black marks had continued to spread, swirling patterns all over his body. There’d been a paralyzing fear at first, knowing that even rational men would see them as a sign of a curse. There was only so much leeway his title and money could grant. Even the wealthiest of men knew a demon was a guarantee of death.

But not a single soul could see them.

The demon he was becoming was growing more mad by the day, and he held it tight beneath a facade of smiles and french manners. It was tiring, made more so by the lack of sleep each night.

Every night he’d lie in bed, freezing and sweating and wondering just how far away Washington was.

\---

There was a hand holding him in place as the men filed out. The General was sitting behind his desk, staring him down once more.

Moments passed, and Gilbert was filled with a growing awareness that for the first time he and Washington were alone.

The nonexistent hand let go, and Gilbert fell to his knees, leaning his head down as he had ached to do for so long. The relief he felt as the motion was overshadowed with the crushing fear of the unknown of Washington’s reactions.

It could have been mere seconds, it could have been hours, before Washington’s voice found his ears, “Up, my Marquis.”

_ His _  Marquis. He was  _ his _ . Warmth flooded through his chest, and the voice shouting in terror in the back of his mind was firmly pushed down.

Gilbert couldn’t remember standing up. All he could focus on was how little distance there was between him and Washington. At some point the General had moved to standing in front of him. He could meet Washington’s eyes, but still he felt so small.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Washington murmured, the familiar gravel soothing him, making the instinctual urge to  _ get away _  disappear. Washington raised a hand to trace his face, finger lightly drawing patterns, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “I’ve been waiting for you to come to me. Every night, I claim a bit more of you, paint you with my blood. And still, you didn’t come.”

Gilbert sucked in a breath.

“I was disappointed each and every even I found my bed empty,” Washington continued. “And yet it only made the tempation stronger. You’re beautiful, my Marquis. You captured my attention from the very first moment I laid eyes on you.”

He bowed his head down, trying to look away from Washington’s face. The God was sincere, and it felt like the entire world was closing in around him on this very moment. Washington hooked a finger under his chin and tilted his face back up.

Washington ducked his head closer, hot breath ghosting over Gilbert’s lips. “And you knew what I was, the recognition I’ve been missing for so long. I never expected to find it in  _ you. _ ”

The kiss was fire and burning and delicious and perfect and Gilbert couldn’t keep his hands from going to Washington’s coat and holding him closer,  _ needing _  to get as close as he could. Washington’s lips against his both too much and not enough and overwhelming and like the first drop of water after days spent in the desert.

Washington stepped away, leaving Gilbert gasping for air.

“Until another night, my Marquis,” Washington said. “Remember, you’re mine now.”

As if he could ever forget.

\---

Every night he awoke with the additional awareness that Washington was waiting for him.

It burned more than anything ever had before, but he ignored it. He  _ wanted _ , oh how he wanted. But he couldn’t give in. There was something holding him back. The same instinct that had told him to run was telling him to wait.

This time, he’d listen.

\--

It was late. The fire and candles were flickering, shadows flying across the men’s faces as they continued to argue and bicker without reaching any sort of decision.

Gilbert could see Washington’s continued annoyance. Even a God’s patience could grow thin.

Washington slammed his hand onto the table and the room froze. “Enough of this,” he said, voice filling the room. “This has gone on for too long and we have made no progress. We will resume this tomorrow.”

The expected protests were absent, and soon Gilbert and Washington were once again alone.

“I have a question for you, my Marquis.”

Gilbert looked over and met met Washington’s gaze.

Washington leaned forward, a smirk playing at his lips. “Would you kill for me?”

Gilbert froze, his mouth dropping open. He already the answer. The silent shout of yes echoing in his mind, everything in him itched to leap forward and prove to Washington just how willing he was.

“You already know the answer to that,” he whispered.

The General smiled. “Follow me.”

The walk was long, and Washington burned bright ahead of him. The night was dark and cold, and Gilbert knew that if it weren’t for Washington he’d be freezing and lost and on the verge of death. There was no trail they followed and Washington held no lantern.

Time didn’t exist the same way when he and Washington were alone together. It warped around them, fading in and out, a constant tick at the back of his mind and then nothing at all. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered unless Washington made it matter.

And the man lying on the ground in front of him mattered very much.

He looked over at Washington, confusion visible on every line of his face.

Washington chuckled. “My beautiful Marquis,” he said. His smile grew dark, and that same feeling Gilbert had felt so long ago of fear and awe and something unnatural spiked through him once more. “I want blood.”

Gilbert shuddered. His hand went to his empty belt. “I don’t have-”

“Use your hands,” Washington interrupted. “I gave you claws for a reason, my Marquis.”

He spread his hands out in front of him and looked down, and sure enough claws were in the place of nails that had bit into his palms night after night.

The blood was hot - burning like so much was - as it dripped down his arm, forever ruining the fabric of his shirt.

Washington stepped close and reached for his hand - fire and salt and spice and everything and nothing - and brought one clawed finger to his mouth. “Taste,” Washington said.

He did as he was told. Iron thick on his tongue.

Washington let go of his hand. “You’re mine, you know.”

He nodded.

“And forever shall you be.”

This time, Washington didn’t hold back. There were teeth biting into his lips and hands tearing clothing away, and all he could do was melt into it, begging for more.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this got dark. It's a light-hearted challenge and here I am, making...this. Anyway. 
> 
> It's been a while since I've completed anything, and I'm not terribly mad at this one at the moment. 
> 
> Please feel free to come pester me at my [tumblr](http://ashilrak.tumblr.com/) :^))


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